The Art of Poetry No. 116
“Writing is not therapy. That’s the last thing it is. I still have my grief.”
“Writing is not therapy. That’s the last thing it is. I still have my grief.”
but the cancer / is so available like so much isn’t—good air and tranquility, / space between sets of particles
The havoc-caused
soul occurs not
recovers yet the
I dreamed of a clipper ship
Gold on blue THE CHASEY ALICE
Until he’d seen which Captain You said
I’ve meant to tell you many things about my life,
& every time the moment has conquered me.
I woke up remembered “It is a day”
& went out to make it
be a day
I needed a long bus ride up-
town like a new hole oh well